


stand there, my beloved

by WahlBuilder



Category: Mars: War Logs
Genre: (two of them actually), Age Difference, Autistic Technomancers, Love, M/M, Multi, Polyamory, Post-Canon, Technomantic Culture, Tenderness, Trans Male Character, twenty headcanons in a trench coat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-25
Updated: 2019-05-25
Packaged: 2020-03-17 09:40:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,533
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18962680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WahlBuilder/pseuds/WahlBuilder
Summary: After returning to his beloveds, Roy tightens his bond with them. He's marked them, but he is marked himself also.





	stand there, my beloved

**Author's Note:**

> A direct continuation of [love shook my soul](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18339677).

‘I missed you, Roy.’

He smiles, trying to wipe moisture off his cheeks.

Innocence is in no better state, but looks much better. Roy can’t stop looking.

‘I missed you, too.’ It is so easy to say, and he remembers when he struggled with this, words and gestures both. ‘Very much. I’m sorry I had been absent even before I left.’

‘It’s all right. You are here now.’

He realises that Innocence is taller now than when they first met. Or maybe it’s only because Roy is not wearing boots with thick soles. The Conduit bodyglove is as though walking barefoot.

‘My Innocence,’ he murmurs.

Innocence’s smile is tender.

They lean into the kiss simultaneously, and Roy sighs at the feeling of soft lips on his, then Innocence kisses his cheeks—one then the other.

‘I haven’t shaved.’

‘Stubble looks good on you. Rogueish.’

They close arms around each other, moving easily, and Roy feels grounded, protected. Many people think that Innocence is weak, but fragility and tenderness don’t mean weakness.

He tucks his nose to Innocence’s neck. Innocence smells, as ever, of green things and salt of earth, and Roy brushes a kiss on his skin because he can. Innocence is warm and real.

‘Do I get a kiss, too?’

Roy almost pulls back to Tenacity—but Innocence’s hands hold tight, and he is grateful.

‘You can try,’ Innocence murmurs, a dare in his voice.

‘I certainly will,’ Tenacity drawls.

His broad hands circle Roy’s waist, and Tenacity presses to him from behind. Roy turns, even though the angle is awkward, and smears a kiss over Tenacity’s cheekbone.

‘That’s no kiss,’ Tenacity grumbles, rubbing his chin against Roy’s shoulder.

He slides a hand into the red hair. It is soft and thick, and the sensation tightens something in his chest. ‘First, tell me what you did with the part of this outfit.’

‘What part?’

He can’t see it properly from this angle, but he can _hear_ Tenacity’s grin.

‘The pants part. The Conduit’s vestments go with short golden pants. Seen them anywhere?’

‘Nope, doesn’t ring a bell.’

‘You want me to walk around with no pants?’ he says. ‘All right.’

Tenacity is silent for a few moments. Roy catches Innocence’s smile.

‘Wait. You mean walking around only in the…’

‘The bodyglove, yes,’ he supplies helpfully. ‘Of course, there are the blues, but I won’t be wearing them all the time, they are rather ritualistic…’

‘And you aren’t going to wear anything over the bodyglove.’

‘No, nothing at all. I like it. It is so _form-fitting_.’

Tenacity grumbles, arms tightening on Roy’s stomach. ‘Okay, okay, I will return the pants. Even though there’s no _form_ to fit to.’

‘Then why are you so worried, Tenacity?’ Innocence asks, the corners of his mouth quirked up.

Tenacity grumbles again, and his beard tickles the shaven skin on the nape of Roy’s neck. ‘Why can’t you just wear normal clothes?’

‘I like the bodyglove, as I said.’

‘How is it even opened?’ Tenacity paws at his stomach, his sides, his chest, and Tenacity’s tone full of curiosity doesn’t fool Roy.

But it makes Roy’s inside flutter, his breath hitch. He missed them.

‘Guess.’

He extracts himself from their embrace and dances away, smile tugging at his lips. He missed them so much, they haven’t been together since the sealing of the Source. Desire, longing coil in him, flow with his Fluid, hot and energising.

They must feel it, too—he _feels_ them feeling it, the bracelets and the collar translate it: Innocence’s expression thoughtful, blue eyes big—and Tenacity stops in his track for a moment, then bares his teeth.

‘Can’t hide now, _Roy bach_ ,’ Tenacity growls, and his growl rolls down Roy’s body, down his spine, spreading through the wiring of the bodyglove.

He’s given them all of himself. Even when he can’t form words, they will be able to feel his state, through his gifts—and he will feel them in turn even while deafened by the world.

‘I can’t hide—but you…’ He lifts his hand and slowly closes his fist—Tenacity’s eyes go wide as his hand flies up to his throat—but Roy already releases the pressure.

Closing his fist was purely for theatrics: he can control the particles without moving a brow.

Tenacity licks his lips. ‘Where is the mask, Roy?’ he rasps.

He smiles. ‘You’ll see later. I’m here, and you’re asking about my possessions?’

‘Only because they are yours.’

He turns away from Tenacity, to Innocence. The blue of Innocence’s eyes is darker. ‘I have more interesting things to do, Old Hound,’ Roy announces.

Innocence lifts a hand and puts it on his chest, runs it over the wiring that repeats the framework of muscles—but also provides Roy with guidelines on how he should arrange his field to imitate an inner contour.

He sees the interest of an artist in Innocence, that glint in his eyes that he gets when he sees something worth drawing. Sucks his cheek, chews on his lips. Then his hand moves up again, over the planes of wiring, up to Roy’s covered neck—every touch a caress. Innocence fits his fingers under the hem of the wiring right under Roy’s throat, and pulls.

Roy bends for the kiss, allowing the wiring to peel down, fall out like petals of a flower. He feels like baring his inner core to them.

But there is a tension in Tenacity, and he pulls away (even though Innocence’s lips are so, so soft and so good). ‘Old Hound?’

‘Roy,’ Tenacity sounds choked, and not like after the tightening of the collar. ‘Your skin. What the _fuck_ is this?’

He looks down at himself in confusion. Then searches around, and there is a huge mirror that Innocence must be using for drawing (and perhaps, for other things, too).

Roy goes to it, and looks at himself. Pushes the wiring down to his hips.

He doesn’t like looking at himself in the mirror. The days when he avoided even the _thought_ of going near any reflective surface, when catching a glimpse of his reflection would make him sick for a long time to come, are gone, thank the spirits. He is more comfortable in his body, even though it’s still too sensitive and causes him distress—but it is closer to a shape that is _his_ (even though he’s still not certain what that distant, ideal shape should be). And it is in great part thanks to Tenacity’s help, and he’s never forgotten: about the surgeries, and information, and care, ice packs and painkillers, and a hand petting his hair and Tenacity’s voice telling him stories while he was in too much pain to sleep. But still, he doesn’t like looking at himself much.

His kindred don’t scar easily, and Roy could, if with some experimentation, to get rid of all of them, force his body to forget them. But they are milestones of his journey. The scars from surgeries are prized, the one on the right shoulder is a reminder of his promise to himself to never take a life again, and the one under his left clavicle is his determination to forge his own path.

He sees why Tenacity would be concerned.

He twists his torso this way and that, and his skin changes colour just like Innocence’s bracelets and Tenacity’s collar: gold with blue veins—to white with red cracks. He looks up at his reflection, tilts his head to the right shoulder. A band, the width of Tenacity’s collar, circle his throat. It doesn’t change, vibrant blue like the ceremonial vestments.

‘Does it hurt?’ Innocence asks, and strokes Roy’s shoulder with a warm hand. ‘It doesn’t feel any different than… just, skin.’

So it seems, _this_ was the tune that clung to the colours. ‘Maybe it’d wear off,’ Roy says, rubbing the circular scar on the left. Doesn’t feel unusual to him either, only changes: metallic blue to red to blue, gold to porcelain white to gold.

‘It is beautiful,’ Innocence says, looking up at Roy, cheek pressed to Roy’s shoulder. ‘ _You_ are beautiful.’

Roy can’t even protest. He knows to trust Innocence: Innocence is a writer and an artist and sees the world more clearly than most people.

Innocence’s eyes focus on something behind Roy just as a warm big hand snakes round Roy’s waist. ‘You are marked also,’ Tenacity rumbles, immensely pleased, judging by the smirk hidden in his beard, and Roy tries to kiss it off of him, but it is too stubborn to go away. ‘I say,’ Tenacity drawls, ‘it is fair.’

Roy looks at their reflection in the mirror—their arms around him and each other, their eyes flicking to meet in the reflection.

The three of them are their own beings—but he feels them as himself, as different him-selves, overlapping like different melodies to create a complex song. The three of them, together, are a system with its own laws. A whole world. They change, and the system changes, and the world changes—but remains.

He is here with them—no matter what kind of fear compels him to run. He is—here, with them.

‘We are.’


End file.
